Many Waters
by taperjeangurl
Summary: As Ragnar draws closer to getting everything he's ever wanted, the appearance of Earl Ingstad forces him to re-evaluate his choices, his current marriage, and ultimately, his fate. Major AU.


**A/N-This is my first attempt at this fandom and in this particular story, I've chosen to ignore a lot of what happened in the end of season 2. This is going to be very AU, but I've been having a lot of fun dreaming up an alternate 'reunion' for my favorite Vikings couple. The title comes from a biblical reference that Athelstan will mention later on in this story. ****Hope you like it!**

* * *

Ragnar Lothbrok was in a foul mood. As the last of his ale slid down his throat, he abruptly tore the cup from his lips and flicked it into the dirt at his feet. On any given night, he treasured his time alone by the fireside where he could ruminate and reflect on the day's events. Quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire, often gave way to his most elaborate and successful plans. Most conflicts, he found, had a way of sorting themselves out when he could stare mindlessly for hours into the flames.

Tonight, however, was another story. Tonight, his ruminations were plagued by Earl Ingstad.

In the two hours he'd spent next to this fire he had yet to pinpoint what, exactly, annoyed him the most about her appearance in his life once more. His eyes flitted shut at the memory of her striding up to the clearing, her head held high, her beautiful light locks flowing around her shoulders, and the strong voice that haunted his dreams taunting him.

_We are equals now, _she had told him, her voice smug with victory. _This must be difficult for you._

Lying to her had never been easier. Of course it had been difficult for him...it still was...but the gods would have to strike him down first before he'd ever admit that to her. His real conflict lied in the reasons why their new arrangement was so difficult for him: they were ones he couldn't have anticipated.

Four years had passed since she left him the first time. The memory of her riding away in her wagon with her arms protectively wrapped around their son, turned away from him like the very sight of him disgusted her, still cut him to the core. Pride couldn't stop the tears that had streamed down his cheeks as he'd watched those flowing light locks sail away from him, seemingly for forever. Then, she'd left him a second time only a few months ago when she'd returned to him to help him regain Kattegat. Reason told him her return hadn't necessarily been for him, but still, wishful thinking had once again given him false hope that this time she might decide to stay with him. To stay _for_ him.

And once again, she'd abandoned him.

So, really, there was nothing in recent memory that should suggest this time would be different. Even though strategy dictated that he needed this new alliance in order to continue expanding his lands and discovering new ones, he wished more than anything that it had been anyone but her. His pride might have turned her away if it hadn't been so invigorating to see her face again. Because, if he was being completely honest with himself, he knew exactly why everything about their meeting today had annoyed him.

"Brother...I thought I'd find you here."

Ragnar tilted his head back at the voice, careful to slip an impassive mask on his face as his brother collapsed into the dirt next to him.

"Do you have anymore of that?" he pushed out gruffly, gesturing with his head towards the mug of ale in his brother's hand.

Rollo shot him an impish grin before tossing the contents of the mug back.

"No," he smacked his lips together as he spoke. "I don't. I think you'll have to go back inside the hall if you want some more, brother."

Ragnar's lips curled back ever so slightly into a snarl. That was a hit below the belt if there ever was one and Rollo had known exactly where to strike. His eyes drifted to the hall's main entrance only to find his wife standing nearby, stiff with solemn eyes staring back at him and disappointed in him once again. Perhaps disillusioned would be the better description, but he had no energy left in him to ruminate on _that _as well tonight. Earl Ingstad's appearance had sucked all the life right out of him already.

"So, I take it you won't be joining your...family...inside the hall for the remainder of the night?" Rollo's knowing, smug voice called out to him.

Ragnar grunted and cast his brother an amused sideways glance. "Not at the moment."

"Of course."

Several moments passed between them and Ragnar had almost talked himself into believing that Rollo might be content to just sit quietly next to him before his brother began running his mouth again.

"So...Earl Ingstad, eh?"

With eyebrows hitched into his forehead, Ragnar's head shifted to shoot his brother an indifferent glance.

"Yes," he allowed and cleared this throat to rid his voice of any betraying emotions. "I think the gods might be playing a great trick on me, brother."

Rollo tilted his head to the side so he could get a better look at him. "Surely you are not having second thoughts about taking her as an ally."

"No," Ragnar responded, probably a little too quickly. "I am not."

"Then why is it you seem more than a little perturbed by her arrival, brother? I can only imagine what irks you the most...Lagertha's deception or the knowledge that she is saving your ass again."

A loud snort erupted and there was no stopping the sly grin that crept across Ragnar's lips. "Interesting choice of words."

Rollo just shrugged easily. "Besides, you and I both know you never would have accepted her help if you had known who Earl Ingstad _really_ was."

With a heavy sigh, he fisted a hand over his mouth so his brother couldn't see the way his lips had drawn back in a tight, grim line. Part of him knew Rollo was right-ego alone might've been enough to rebuff his ex-wife's assistance, especially now that he was staring down having had accepted her help not once, but twice. And to add insult to injury, the Lagertha he remembered would've never lied to conceal her true identity. Had she changed so much in the months since they'd last been reunited that she would stoop to such deception?

Still, the other part of him, the part that weighed him down so heavily tonight, knew that deception and ego could be easily overlooked if it meant getting within ten feet of her again. His mind's eye flashed to the image of her perched on top of her horse today, still as beautiful as the day he'd married her so long ago. Years nor battle scars could ever tarnish her beauty, at least not for him.

And to have the opportunity to raid and discover new lands with her, like they'd done so many times before? To ride and fight side by side? There was little in this life he would trade just to have that chance and it remained to be seen if the gods would ever present it again.

But he'd be damned to Hel's realm before Rollo ever got him to admit that.

So, in an effort to draw his brother's ever-observant attention away from his mixed feelings about his ex-wife's return, he tossed a few stones into the fire with a shrug. "How do you suppose she became an earl anyway?"

Rollo shot him a knowing grin and lifted a shoulder. "Her husband died. Surely you have put together that much."

"Yes, but _how_ did he die, I wonder?"

"Ah...I have heard a few rumors. There are some that say Earl Sigvard was a despicable man; I suppose he could have met his end a number of ways. Of course, there are also some that say he was not particularly kind to his new wife and stepson, so, perhaps that is how he met his end."

Almost immediately, the ruse fell away as a flood of new emotions raged through him. It was all Ragnar could do to keep himself under the pretense of calmness long enough not to throttle his brother for failing to mention this sooner.

"And why am I just hearing of this now?" Ragnar pushed out through gritted teeth.

Rollo just shrugged. "I didn't think it would concern you, brother."

"Of course it would concern me," he shot back, his lips curling up into a snarl. "If my son was in danger or being mistreated, it would most certainly concern me."

"Oh, come now, Ragnar, you know your former wife never would never have allowed anything to happen to your first-born son."

Brooding rage cascaded over him as he shot his brother a deadly glare. Once again, Rollo's choice of words betrayed his motive and those words were aimed at creating the most painful, infuriating blows as possible. And he was certainly succeeding. One hand rested over his mouth while the other fisted into his pant leg to keep himself from striking out at his brother.

"What, exactly, were these rumors you heard? Who did you hear them from?" Ragnar demanded, his voice thick and gruff from thinly-veiled fury.

"I suppose the source is not necessarily important," Rollo replied, finally displaying more of the seriousness that Ragnar needed to see at this moment. "Although Bjorn did mention something to me in passing a few days ago."

Ragnar shifted sharp eyes from the fire and knifed them right into his brother. "What did he say?"

The solemnity he found staring back at him made all the rage slide right out of him. Now, the only emotion housed inside of Ragnar was fear. As Rollo related the information his own son, his first-born, had chosen to withhold from him, Ragnar shut his eyes and listened to the grim picture his brother painted for him. Never in a hundred years would he have ever guessed he'd be hearing this, that his family had drifted so far away from him that their supposed protection in Earl Sigvard had turned out to be anything but.

Even as Rollo concluded the story, Ragnar was grateful he was sitting down. If he'd been standing, he might have fallen to his knees.

With too many emotions skidding through his veins, he couldn't have pinned one down with his knife if he tried. Grappling for some semblance of control, he stared straight ahead into the fire while the storm raged within him. Speech was lost. All ability to do just about anything but sit right where he was had evaporated. While he'd been aware she had remarried and that her husband's subsequent death was required in order for her to even have a prayer of chance of taking his position, he'd never anticipated the reason for it.

Finally, Ragnar found his voice.

"Bjorn told you this himself?" he demanded, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames at his feet. All he needed was to hear his brother's voice. He didn't need anything else.

"Yes, he did," Rollo's voice called out somberly.

Jaw clenched tightly at the confirmation, he finally turned back to face his brother and released the little bit of bridled fury he could on the messenger.

"So you knew this days ago and yet you wait to tell me now?"

"And what would you have done, Ragnar?" Rollo just shrugged. "If it is true, it is over now."

With his lips curled up into a snarl, Ragnar turned his focus back to the yellow and blue flames curling into the moonlight. Once again, his brother was right. Had he learned this information days ago, when Rollo had initially learned of these 'rumors', there would have been nothing to be done. At least nothing that Lagertha apparently had not already done herself. If this story was true, Lagertha had had no need for him to come riding to her rescue. And that, he knew deep within his gut, just might be the part about all this that upset him the most.

Lagertha had never been the type of woman who needed rescuing and he suspected she'd rather die than allow anyone, especially him, handle a situation that could be taken care of her own. She had never been particularly skilled at asking for help, probably out of stubborn pride more than anything, and apparently, she wasn't about to start now. Was that what had irked him? That she hadn't sent word to him that she needed him?

The answer to that was simple: she hadn't needed him and she hadn't asked for his help, so any time he spent caring about this now was wasted energy. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't make him care any less.

Still, he knew he'd never be able to sleep tonight until he knew, once and for all, if the story Rollo had told him tonight was true.

"I wonder," Rollo called out again, "if this new alliance will be permanent. What do you think, brother?"

Ragnar huffed in annoyance. "She's chosen to leave before. What would stop her from doing it a third time?"

It was as fair a question as any, but it wasn't lost on him that Rollo was regarding him now with a gleam of amusement in his dark eyes. There was nothing about the circumstances he currently found himself in that was amusing.

"Well, brother," Rollo rose to his feet as he spoke and slapped Ragnar on the top of his shoulder. "I would love to continue our little chat here by the fireside, but I need to sleep. Oh and by the way, did I forget to mention that our new ally has made camp nearby?"

Ragnar curled his lip in response as he watched his older brother disappear into his home, chuckling and muttering to himself with every step he took. It was just as well; Ragnar was just about done talking to him anyways. He snorted to himself and angrily kicked a heel into the dirt, a fruitless attempt at expending some of the pent-up frustration he now had no idea what to do with.

His eyes wandered aimlessly until they fell on his own home, now dark and quiet with the night. His boys had been put to bed long ago and he imagined his wife was also currently in bed as well. Whether or not she was actually sleeping was another story. At this rate, he might be better off simply staying out here by the fire and sleeping in the dirt. It would probably be warmer out here, in the middle of the night long after the fire had died out, than it would be in his bed next to his wife.

With a sigh, he tilted his head back until the wide expanse of the night sky opened for him. Ruminating on the current state of his personal affairs was just more energy wasted, especially given that he seemed unable to do anything to please his wife. Anything he did, anything he said, was met with judgment and distrust, and he couldn't for the life of him understand what he'd done wrong. At some point, he knew he'd given up trying to give her what she needed because frankly, he had no idea what that was.

No, he shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts, there was no use in brooding over this any longer. It was time to be proactive about _something _now, rather than simply reactive. He needed answers and he needed the truth.

And as his feet carried him in the direction his brother had not-so-subtly directed, he would not, however, allow himself to muse why these answers and why this particular truth was so essential to his sleep tonight.

* * *

Lagertha was uncomfortable. As she tossed and turned in the makeshift bed, twisting her face into the hides underneath her, she wondered fleetingly if this feeling of discomfort would ever truly leave her as long as she was in such close proximity to her ex-husband. Even if this meant being closer to Bjorn, who she'd missed more than she could ever put into words, this distress, this vexation would continue to haunt her until there was more distance between her and Ragnar.

This wasn't really something she'd wanted or needed. But yet, here she was. The moment she'd learned of his desire for a new ally to help him raid and conquer, her horse had been ready in less than an hour later. She just couldn't help herself, she mused. Just the knowledge that he needed help was enough to put her into action. No amount of self-loathing could keep her from returning to Kattegat once again.

She wished, more than anything, that she'd been able to control herself. That she'd been able to just ignore his calls for help-even if they hadn't necessarily been intended for her-and been able to simply focus on her people, on her land, and on her duties. She wished, more than anything, that she'd been able to choose _not_ to care what happened to Ragnar Lothbrok.

Life would be so much easier, so much simpler if she could.

But, here she was. Camped with her men just within short walk's distance outside of Kattegat. Did this make her a fool? Did this make her loyal? Or did this just make her a loyal fool? None of these options truly appealed to her. Still, it was ridiculous to contemplate a life where she did not care what happened to Ragnar Lothbrok.

A life like that simply did not exist for her.

Seeing him again today, as he'd circled around her in that playful way of his, had only confirmed what she already knew. There was no amount of time, no amount of distance, no amount of physical or emotional pain that could ever truly diminish the feelings that still remained. It was more than loyalty. More than duty to her son and to her former people.

A loud knock at her door startled her right out of her thoughts. Grateful for the distraction, she leapt out of bed and threw on her robe.

"Yes?"

One of her men stuck his head around the door. "Earl Ragnar is here, my lord. He says he would like to speak with you."

Lagertha fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead, nodded regally to her man. With one quick look down at her attire, she knew there was no time to change out of her bedclothes and into something more suitable for a conversation with an equal. She barely had enough time to get her wits about her before Ragnar, with his smug swagger, appeared before her.

His lips curled into the side of his face as his eyes trailed down the length of her body, greedily taking in the sight of her in her bedclothes. It took all of her remaining willpower not to wrap her robe even tighter around her body and shield herself from his view. Instead, she held her head high and stood her ground, refusing to let him see a moment of weakness.

"I hope I did not wake you," Ragnar called out to her in that smooth voice she knew so well.

"No," she replied simply. "You did not."

It was far better to keep this conversation as short as humanly possible. The longer he stood in front of her like this, in her bedchamber, the more time her resolve had to disappear entirely.

"What do you want, Ragnar?"

That familiar gleam in his light blue eyes returned and she had to shake herself out of every memory that passed through her. Every touch, every whisper, every kiss...but he certainly wasn't here to reminisce and neither was she. Whatever it was he wanted, it was time to get on with it already.

"What?" he smirked. "I can't tuck my new ally in before bedtime, hm?"

He might have been chuckling at his own joke, but there was nothing about this that was funny to her. Clearly, he needed to be reminded of her new status.

"Ragnar," she told him, keeping her voice as even as possible. "We are both earls now. We are both equals now. I would appreciate it if you actually acknowledged it."

His eyes seemed to slice right through her, holding her right where she stood, almost as if she was frozen under the weight of his silent appraisal.

"Of course," Ragnar allowed finally with a dip of his head. "My apologies, Earl Ingstad."

If the mocking way he'd playfully bowed to her wasn't enough to set her off, the patronizing tone he'd used and his refusal to call her by her given name was. He may have accepted her as an ally, but it appeared he was a long way from ever truly accepting her as an equal. When he began to circle her again, echoing his previous cocky, albeit flirtatious, assessment of her loyalty in the woods, she immediately gestured towards the chairs set up in front of the crackling fire.

"Please," she invited, placing a hand on the back of one of the chairs. "Sit."

At this point, she was willing to do just about anything to set them back on somewhat equal ground. Gaining the upper hand, at least at the moment, was nothing more than a pipe dream. Thankfully, he obliged her almost immediately and fell into the chair she'd directed him to not a moment later.

"So, Earl Ingstad," Ragnar continued, that familiar curl of his lip slipping right back into place. "Tell me, how is it that you earned this title?"

Tilting her chin up proudly, she stared right into the fire. "You have accepted my help, Ragnar. Why should you care how I have the means to do it?"

"Think of it as a bedtime story," Ragnar just shrugged.

"My husband died and his family named me earl. That is the story," Lagertha bit out through clenched teeth.

"Ah, yes," he nodded. "This I know. But how did your husband die, Earl Ingstad?"

The question hung in the air between them, cutting through the tension and threatening to topple what little control she still possessed. Perhaps the very fact that he'd turned her request to acknowledge her status into thinly-veiled mockery was enough to push her over the edge and give him what he wanted.

"I stabbed him in the eye," she allowed, feeling the surge of pride she always felt at the memory of her second husband's demise. "And then one of his men-my men-finished him off."

He was leaning closer to her now and all she could do was lean away, desperate to put more space between them. "Why?"

"That is none of your concern."

Ragnar simply leaned back in his chair and set his feet leisurely on the top of the table, resting his hands behind his neck as his gaze found the fire. "My brother told me an interesting story tonight about Earl Sigvard, your now deceased husband. Perhaps you would like to hear it?"

He took her silence and her continual stare into the fire as answer enough and went on speaking, even though she already knew what he was going to say.

"Rumor has it that Earl Sigvard took a new wife several years ago...I'm assuming that new wife is you," Ragnar paused for dramatic effect, looking to her pointedly. When he received no reaction from her end, he simply lifted a shoulder and continued the story. "Anyways, Earl Sigvard was a proud man and wasted no opportunity to brag about how he had married the first wife of Ragnar Lothbrok."

With an exaggerated flourish, he gestured to himself with a pointed thumb. "That's me, by the way."

Lagertha sighed in exasperation, clenching her jaw, and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "Is there a point to this story?"

"Yes, yes," he waved a hand. "Back to the story. Apparently, it was no secret in Hedeby that Earl Sigvard liked his ale just as much as he liked to insult his new wife and stepson in front of anyone and everyone. In particular, it seemed he enjoyed belittling and denouncing his stepson with every opportunity he had. And when his new wife rose to defend her son, Earl Sigvard would beat her in private. As the rumors go, when his new wife and stepson left four months ago to aide Ragnar Lothbrok in regaining his lands, they did so without the earl's consent. So, when his wife returned without his stepson, he went into a rage and had her beaten in the night by his most trusted men. The next night at supper, the earl attempted to humiliate his wife in front of their people yet again, but this time…this time, he did not succeed. This time, his wife rose to her feet and stabbed the earl in the eye with her knife before he had a chance to even attempt it. Now, he is dead and his wife has taken his place."

Several moments of silence hung between them and she could feel Ragnar's eyes on her, waiting patiently for some sign of reaction. Unfortunately for him, she'd spent years cultivating an impassive mask to shield her emotions from those around her. He wasn't getting anything.

"So, Earl Ingstad," Ragnar cocked an eyebrow at her. "Did you like the story?"

"It was interesting, I suppose," she allowed.

"But is it true?"

The playful tone had long slipped away and now, as the question lingered in the air, Ragnar's words had taken a harder, almost sinister edge. His sea-blue eyes pierced through her as if to will her into telling him what he wanted, to force her to tell him the truth. The problem was that if she did tell him the truth...what would happen then? What could possibly be gained from confirming this story? Her husband was already dead; he'd already gotten exactly what he deserved. There was nothing Ragnar could possibly do about it now, which only mounted her confusion and frustration at his insistence.

"The truth does not matter," Lagertha conceded, her voice thick and betraying every emotion rippling inside her.

Ragnar's eyes narrowed and a long tick ran down his jaw. "It does matter. And your avoidance tells me that the story Rollo told me tonight was true. You killed him because he beat you."

There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could say. He knew the truth already anyways and she could feel the rage just vibrating off him from where he sat feet away from her. She couldn't look at him either, despite the fact that she already knew exactly what she would find there. Judgment. Loathing. Fury. None of that would do her any good.

"So you have nothing to say?" he pressed on, his voice tight and rough.

She didn't need this. She didn't need to sit here and give in to his demands, to subject herself to the accusation in his voice. But when he pounded his fist into the table, she jumped to action, holding her hands out in front of her to appease him-even though he had no right or claim to be reacting the way he was.

"Bjorn was never in any danger," Lagertha tried to reason, but he furiously shook his head at her.

Shoving himself out of his chair, Ragnar snarled at her before stalking to the other side of the room. Even with his back to her and his arms crossed over his chest, she could still see the way his chest furiously heaved against his forearms.

Sensing she was quickly digging herself into an even bigger hole, Lagertha pushed herself out of her own chair and took a few cautious steps towards him. Part of her almost wanted to reach for him, to put her hand on his shoulder...anything just to touch him. But that wouldn't help either of them right now. He was too angry and she was too bitter.

"It has been taken care of, Ragnar," she tried again. "I never would have allowed anything to happen to Bjorn."

"I know that," Ragnar's cold voice called out over his shoulder.

But when he turned on his heel to face, the soft expression in his eyes didn't match the hardness that had been in his voice. Her heart leapt into her throat and she desperately tried to hide the haggard breath she had to suck in to somehow grasp for her bearings. The truth behind his fury was etched into his features and written into the arms that tightened across his chest.

It was a truth neither could speak out loud, but one that was true nonetheless. _She _had been in danger. _She _had been at risk. _She _had been beaten and humiliated for everyone in Hedeby to see.

Ragnar's rage was not directed at her, but at her deceased husband and the circumstances Earl Sigvard had created for her out of his own jealousy and madness. There was no trace of the judgment and frustration she'd thought she would surely see in her former husband's eyes. If anything, there was nothing there now but remorse and the shock of that realization startled her to the core.

He took one step towards her with an arm groping for her skin, his eyes impassioned and imploring for her to somehow let him back in, but that slight, almost invasive movement was enough to jerk her back into reality.

"It is getting late, Ragnar," she told him pointedly. "I am sure your wife is missing you."

Something akin to disappointment with maybe a hint of resignation slipped across his handsome face and then he nodded. Without another word, he shoved his fingertips into the collar of his tunic and stalked out the door.

Lagertha stood there next to the fire for a moment, stunned and frozen by these turn of events. It would have been better if this had never happened. If they could've just found some sort of common ground in their equal statuses and just worked together for their common goal. Now, all this visit had done was kick up old memories, bitterness, confusion, and long-dormant feelings that she fought every day to cast aside.

With an exhausted sigh, she tossed off her robe and collapsed back into bed, burying her face among the soft hides beneath her, and sent up a silent prayer to Odin that she would be able to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep tonight.

* * *

**A/N-I'm sure you've figured out by now that this is already very different from the show. Lagertha joining Ragnar as an ally is pretty much the only canonish plot point I have planned for this story. I also have never seen a real Ragnar/Lagertha story on this site (if I missed it, I'm sorry!), so I decided to give it a try since I'm still keeping my fingers crossed that those two find their way back to each other in season 3. **

**I've been writing Sons of Anarchy fanfiction for the last year or so under a different penname (if you can guess it, I'll send some spoilers your way if you want ;) , but I've also used this one several years ago and am using this one now just so I don't worry the current readers of my SOA fanfics. I've recently fallen in love with this show, especially Ragnar and Lagertha. They're both such awesome and complex characters and even though I hated how their relationship ended at the beginning of last season, I'm still holding out hope. That being said, this is a cool challenge for me and I'm really excited to work on this. **

**So, please let me know what you thought. Any feedback, thoughts/comments/predictions would be really great! Thanks for reading!**


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